Potential
by magneticdice
Summary: Ian and Mickey's lives are drastically different, but they are still drawn to one another. Part 3 of my Gallavich Week series, for the "different beginnings" theme.
1. Chapter 1

Gallavich Week Part 3

**Potential**

When Ian was two years old, Fiona had taken him to the clinic because he'd had a fever of 104 degrees. DCFS had quickly been called and had looked into the case because the kids had been alone, parent-less... Frank hadn't shown up for another four days after Ian had been admitted.

Instead of letting Ian be sent to live with a foster family like Fiona and Lip had been, Monica had told he family court judge that Ian wasn't really Frank's son. His brother Clayton was Ian's biological father, so Ian had been sent to live with him and his wife, Lucy.

Clayton and Lucy already had a son named Jacob, who was barely one year younger than Ian. In fact, their birthdays were less than two weeks apart. Clayton was eager to have his "newly discovered son" come live with their little family, but Lucy always treated Ian differently—she was polite, caring and never touched a hair on his head, but there was a _clear_ difference between how she raised her _own_ son compared how she raised Ian. Ian knew it was because he was a constant reminder of his dad's infidelity, but nobody ever spoke about it.

Ian had a good life. They lived in a quiet suburb about a half hour drive away from Chicago. The neighborhood was very family-centric. All of the houses had basketball hoops set up in their driveways and the kids would usually play hockey in the street without any worries of being run over by cars. It was a safe town. A typical, middle-class neighborhood.

Ian did well in school. His parents got him a tutor to help him with his trickier subjects like Math and Science, and he had excelled in History and English, particularly creative writing. Ian had been a natural when it came to sports of all kinds. He and Jacob had been on the little league team together back in elementary school, but despite the fact that Jacob had quickly lost interest (preferring to play with his telescope and read books in his room), Ian continued to play. He was now on his school's varsity baseball team. The coach had real hopes for him, calling the redhead his "star player" and constantly raving to anyone who would listen about the potential in Ian.

Each summer, when his parents would send Jacob away to camp, Ian would go visit his half-siblings in Chicago. He'd stay with them all summer, and even though it looked like a punishment from anyone else's point of view, Ian cherished those couple of months every year.

It had taken Frank and Monica five months to get Fiona and Lip out of foster care and back into their home. They'd had to sober up and pass several home inspections and drug tests. Ian had never asked why they hadn't tried getting him back from Clayton. Maybe they had wanted him to have a better life than what they could offer? He hoped that had been the reason, and not the other possibility, which was that they just didn't want him.

Monica had had three more kids in the fourteen years since then: Debbie, who was now 9, Carl, who was 8, and Liam, who was still just a toddler. She had left them in Frank's care years ago, but everyone knew that Fiona was the one who really raised the kids and managed the home. Frank had been to drunk to do anything.

Ian and Lip were pretty close, considering the fact that they only saw each other for a quarter of the year. They kept in touch through phone calls the rest of the time. (It had initially been through actual letters, but when Ian found out that his step-mom read all of his mail, he'd started carefully calling his half-brother when she wasn't home.)

Ian sat in his room, putting the last of his clothes into his duffel bag.

"Ian! Are you almost ready?!" Lucy shouted from downstairs.

"Yeah...!" Ian yelled back.

He stuffed his glove into his bag, zipped it up and threw it over his shoulder. When he got downstairs, he saw that Jacob's suitcases (yes, he had _three_ bags of luggage to take with him) had all been neatly loaded into the van. Their dad would be driving Jacob to camp first, and then dropping off Ian in South Side Chicago afterwards. Then, Clayton and Lucy would be heading to the airport for their own vacation, just like they did every summer. Ian thought they were going to Bermuda this time, but he couldn't be sure. He hadn't really been paying attention when his parents had been happily telling Jacob about their plans.

Ian sat in the back seat of the van with his head resting against the window. They listened to a terrible rap station during the entire ride because it was Jacob's favorite. Ian hated rap. When they got to the camp, his parents spent over an hour getting Jacob situated in his cabin. Ian sat on some other kid's trunk and watched as Lucy fussed over her "little baby". She even made Jacob's bunk bed for him, tucking the sheets in the corners like he was some kind of royalty.

They finally left the camp after over ten minutes of hugging and tears being shed (mostly on Lucy's part), and headed to the _other_ Gallagher house. Ian didn't bother asking them to put on a rock station; he already knew the answer would be no. He was so relieved when they pulled up to the front of Frank's house. Of course, Frank was nowhere to be seen, but his parents had stopped checking years ago. They saw Fiona sitting on the porch, watching Liam play in the yard, and she was enough of a "guardian" to leave Ian with for their standards.

"Okay, see you at the end of August..." Ian said, wondering if he would get any response from his parents besides a quick "goodbye". He didn't. They didn't even get out of the van to give him a hug. Ian grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and slammed the door shut.

Fiona was already running to give her baby brother a hug. Even though he wasn't a baby anymore—he had turned 16 two months ago—he was still a baby to her. At least someone was happy to see him... Was this what it felt like to be part of a real family?


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey was 15 when his father caught him having sex. It wouldn't have been a problem... if it had been with a girl... Unfortunately, that hadn't been the case.

That had only been Mickey's second time having sex with a guy. It had been one of his brother's friends. They'd gotten drunk and stoned and one thing had led to another... He'd thought he was careful, but without a lock on his door, the chair he'd used to prop it shut hadn't done shit when his dad had suddenly pushed the door open to go use the bathroom. The legs of the cheap chair had just folded in on themselves.

Terry had been furious. He'd charged at Mickey, beating him senseless. The other guy had fled—ran away the moment he saw a clear path to the bedroom door. Terry had attacked Mickey with such ferocity, pounding his son's head endlessly with his fists, screaming that no son of his was going to be a God-damned AIDS monkey. He'd only stopped when Mickey had lost consciousness. Mickey had later learned from his younger sister Mandy that their dad had left him in his room, bloody and unconscious, and that she had called the ambulance when he'd finally left the house to get more beer an hour later.

But it hadn't ended with that beating. Terry had ridiculed and abused Mickey ever since. It was like he'd purposely told the whole town about his queer son, and had made sure they knew that it was okay with Terry to beat him up at will. Mickey had gone from a feared member of the community to absolute scum. There was nobody to protect him. His brothers had quickly joined in on the abuse. He'd endured it for a year until he'd decided to run away.

With no real means of income, Mickey'd had to steal and pawn shit in order to survive. Nobody would give him a job, and none of his supposed "friends" wanted anything more to do with him since finding out he was a faggot. He'd found an abandoned building and had made himself a shelter on one of the top floors. The ceiling was falling apart. He'd fashioned a little roof using tarps so that he'd be shielded from the rain and had found an old mattress on the street. He would probably have frozen to death by the time winter rolled around, but he hadn't gotten the chance to find out—it wasn't long before he'd been arrested and sent to Juvie for shoplifting.

Juvie had been heaven for Mickey. He'd had warm meals, a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head, his choice of sexual partners... but the best part of Juvie had to be the metal bars. To everyone else, bars meant they were trapped. The cells were a constant reminder of their captivity. To Mickey, however, the bars meant safety. Terry couldn't hurt him while he was locked up.

He'd originally been sentenced to six months, but Mickey had gotten into enough fights and caused enough problems to extend his stay in Juvie more than few times. His eighteenth birthday was fast approaching, and thanks to a visit from his state-appointed attorney, he knew he had to cut that shit out and behave before his release. He didn't want to end up being transferred to prison, afterall.

When Mickey was released, more than a year and a half after running away, nobody had been there to pick him up—not even Mandy. No one had visited him in the whole time he'd been there. He wondered if the state had even sent word to his family about his detention or the fact that he was now being released. He assumed that was something they normally did, but he wouldn't put it past the lovely judicial system of the state of Illinois to let him slip through the cracks. In any case, he was thankful to not see his dad or his brothers hanging around waiting for him.

Mickey made his way over to his little hideaway in the abandoned building, thankful that it was still intact and unoccupied. He silently thanked whatever higher power there was that some other bum hadn't commandeered it. There was no way Mickey was going home. He'd stay here until he could afford something else.

Mickey had to find a legitimate job before his meeting with his parole officer in a few days. He knew that if he didn't find something on his own, he'd get saddled with working at the meat packing plant and would probably lose a limb within the week. Mickey began his search, going to every construction company and site he could think of. He'd had a lot of time to work out while in Juvie, so he was in pretty good shape. He knew he could handle a physically demanding job... but nobody was willing to hire a seventeen-year-old with a record.

Mickey was starting to give up. He'd been looking for work for two full days already. He supposed he could settle and get a job at a McDonald's or something... at least he'd get some free food in addition to the pathetic wages. On the third day after his release, Mickey had to kill some time before meeting his parole officer. He was smoking a cigarette while walking in the park near her office. It was only the beginning of June, but it was already fucking hot as hell.

Mickey was looking around for a water fountain when he saw a small help wanted sign in the park office's window. Mickey wasn't too optimistic, but he felt like he had to give it a try anyway. He walked over to the small building, which was more like a portable wooden trailer, and knocked on the door. An old man in a dirty maintenance uniform answered. He must have been at least seventy—Mickey didn't know why the guy hadn't retired yet.

"Hi. I saw the sign on the sill. You still hirin'?"

The old man looked Mickey up and down before answering him. "Maybe... I need some help with the upkeep. The guy who used to work here found a better job this summer... but it's a lot of work. You'd be out in the sun all day..." When he spoke, the man took his sweet-ass time, as if he had no other care in the world. His slow drawl was already frustrating Mickey, who could never keep still for too long.

"I can handle it," Mickey said. Did this guy think Mickey was some kind of pussy? He could handle hard work.

"Hmm..." the guy hummed, giving Mickey another appraising stare. "How old are you? This is a public park, you know... it's run by the city. Gotta be eighteen..."

Mickey's shoulders fell. He didn't know why he was so disappointed. He hadn't really expected it to work out anyway. "I'm seventeen. Birthday's not for another two weeks..."

He had turned and started walking back towards the fountain, but something made him turn back around. "Can't you make an exception?" Mickey asked. _"Please?" _he added, voice strained. He couldn't figure out why he said it. Milkoviches didn't beg for anything... but then again, Mickey hadn't felt like a Milkovich for almost three years now.

He looked up at the old man, who was staring hard into Mickey's eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, the man sighed. "Well, maybe I can work something out. I can't put you on the payroll until you're eighteen, but if you start working now, I can add the hours you work during the first two weeks to your future time cards. Would that work?"

Mickey didn't understand why the guy was being so nice to him, but this was the first opportunity he'd had in a long fucking time, and there was no way he was going to pass it up. It had to be better than working in fast food, right? "Yeah, that'd be fine," Mickey said.

"I'm Sal," the guy said, opening the office door wider and urging Mickey in. He filled out some forms and Sal explained what he'd be doing as part of his job. (He'd be responsible for mowing the grass, cleaning the playground, maintaining the baseball field, emptying the garbage cans, etc.) It _was _a lot of work, but Mickey wasn't worried. At least he'd have steady income until the middle of autumn. Sal handed him the previous employee's uniform and told him to be back the next morning at 7am. They shook hands before Mickey left.

Mickey got to his meeting with the parole officer half an hour early; he just hadn't been able to waste any more time wandering around in the park. She seemed impressed with his timing, telling him that most of the time, kids were late, if they even bothered showing up at all. Mickey just shrugged. He told her about the job he had just scored, and she said it would be fine as long as he got her a letter that clearly stated when he would be starting his employment.

Now all Mickey had to do was figure out how to survive without any income for the next two weeks...


	3. Chapter 3

Ian had spent the first two weeks of his summer vacation working with Lip in the ice-cream truck. Lip and Kev ran a small summer business out of the old truck. Yeah, they sold some actual ice cream, snacks and drinks out of the truck, but their main goal was selling beer and joints to anyone over the age of fourteen. Lip had rigged a machine to detect when the cops or patrols were nearby, and it kept their illegal business relatively safe. (His older brother was a genius.)

Ian had only just managed to convince Lip to take the afternoon off and come play ball with him. He was so happy to be on the baseball field again. All of the Gallaghers had come along, bringing their friends, and Ian had arranged two roughly equal teams by adding some stray neighborhood kids into the fray. The game was decent. Ian played first base as usual, but also doubled as the umpire. He even hit a few good pitches, scoring his team 3 runs.

He was sitting with Lip in the dugout after their game. It was late afternoon, but the sun was still in full force and the park was full of kids, families and even pets. They were passing a joint back and forth. Ian relished these moments; he only smoked when he was in Chicago.

"So, you got a girlfriend yet?" Lip asked him.

"No, not yet..." Ian answered. "I'm concentrating on school and baseball," Ian explained. It was a lie, of course. He and Lip were close, but he still didn't feel comfortable telling his brother that he was gay. Lip didn't really need to know. "You?"

"Not really. I've been seeing this chick from school, but it isn't anything official. She's crazy in bed, though. Gives the best fucking hummers I've ever had." Lip went on to describe the blowjobs, but Ian started to zone him out. His attention was drawn to a guy sitting on the bleachers on the opposite side of the field.

"Who's that?" Ian asked Lip when the older boy had finished talking.

"Who?" Lip looked around.

Ian cocked his head in the guy's direction. "The guy sitting on the bleachers. He was watching the game, right?" Ian thought he had noticed him before, but he had been distracted by the game, so he hadn't given the guy a second thought. It was weird that he was still sitting there now that the game was over.

"Oh, that's just Mickey Milkovich. Don't pay attention to that fag. He just got out of Juvie and works in the park... probably so that he can be near all the little boys or something. The asshole called the cops on us twice last week when we were here with the truck." Ian tried not to flinch at Lip's derogatory description of Mickey. Surely Lip was joking about Mickey being a pedophile, right?

They sat for a few more minutes before Lip got up. "I gotta go meet Kev and help him take a closing inventory of the truck. Wanna come?"

Ian shook his head. "Too hot in that truck. I'll meet you at home later."

Lip shrugged and walked away, taking what remained of the joint with him.

Ian stayed in the dugout for a while before making up his mind to head over to the bleachers. As he got closer, he saw Mickey more clearly. He wasn't very tall, but Ian could tell he was built by the way his biceps stretched the sleeves of the gray maintenance uniform he wore. Mickey was very pale and his body was covered with smudges of dirt. He had short, jet black hair and bright blue eyes that Ian could see clearly despite the fact that the guy was squinting from the sun. He was smoking a cigarette and blew the smoke in Ian's direction as the redhead approached him.

Ian sat down on the bleachers a few feet away from Mickey.

"Hi," Ian said. It was all he could think of to say.

Mickey didn't answer.

"I thought your name was Mickey...?"

When Mickey raised an eyebrow at him, Ian pointed to the name tag on his uniform. It said "Raoul" in black script.

"Old uniform," Mickey said, as if that explained everything. Ian expected him to ask how he'd known his name, but he didn't. He just kept casually puffing on his cigarette.

"I'm Ian."

"Good for you."

It was obvious that Mickey didn't want to talk, but Ian couldn't help it—he felt drawn to the guy. He scooted closer to Mickey.

Mickey eyed him apprehensively. "You're a Gallagher, right?"

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, yeah. My last name is Gallagher... but Lip and all of them are my half-siblings. Or cousins? I dunno... my dad is their uncle. Same mom though." Ian was rambling. He didn't know why he was being so honest with Mickey. He didn't usually tell people about his whole freakin' family tree.

Mickey let out a small laugh, and that made Ian smile. "That's pretty fucked up..."

"Yeah, I guess," Ian conceded. "So..." Ian realized he was fidgeting with his glove and put it down on the bench beside him. "You work here?"

"No, I just like to wear this fucking outfit for fun."

Ian grinned. Mickey was joking with him... that had to be a good sign, right?

"When do you finish? Want to go get something to eat?" We can get pizza... my treat."

Ian tried not to blush. He wasn't any good at this. He had never tried picking up a guy before, and he knew he probably sounded like an idiot. The fact that Mickey wasn't answering him wasn't helping calm Ian's nerves. Maybe Ian was completely off base and Mickey wasn't gay... He'd definitely been attracted to Mickey, but just because Lip had called him a fag didn't mean that it was true.

"I finished about an hour ago," Mickey finally answered, breaking the silence.

"Oh? So why are you still here...?" Ian wondered.

"Got nothing better to do... Figured I'd watch the game. Plus, you're pretty good at this. That last one you hit almost went over the fence."

Ian smiled at the compliment, and tried not to blush at the thought of Mickey watching him play. Ian didn't know what else to say. Mickey hadn't said anything about Ian's offer to go eat. "So... pizza?" Ian eventually asked again.

Mickey finished his cigarette and crushed it against the metal bench. He got up, and Ian's heart sank.

"Lead the way," Mickey said.

Ian looked up, surprise obvious in his eyes. A grin spread across his face, stretching from ear to ear. He grabbed his glove and started walking down the bleachers. Mickey followed him.


	4. Chapter 4

They went to a small by-the-slice pizzeria a few blocks away from the park. It wasn't anything special, but the pizza was good and it was cheap. Ian's parents hadn't given him any money before dropping him off in Chicago. All he had was what he'd earned from helping out Lip and Kev with the truck.

Mickey didn't talk much, but that was fine with Ian. He seemed to listen to every word Ian said as he rambled on and on about himself. He talked about his parents, his brother Jacob, his school, the baseball team... He felt so comfortable telling Mickey these things.

They'd finished eating a while ago. It was already dark out. Mickey was about to get up when Ian's hand darted out and grabbed his wrist from across the table. "Wait!" Ian didn't know what had possessed him. Mickey glared down at where Ian's hand was clasped around his own incredulously. Ian let go immediately. "Just... wait. Don't go yet..."

Mickey flexed his arm as if Ian had grabbed him tightly, but he was sure he hadn't. "We can't just sit here forever," Mickey said then.

"I know..." Ian said, "I just... I want us to keep talking..." Ian confessed. Jesus... could Ian be any more lame?

Mickey smiled then. It was a tiny smile, but it changed his whole face. Ian didn't think he'd ever seen anyone look more beautiful than Mickey did when he smiled. "You're the one doing all the talking, Firecrotch."

Before Ian had a chance to respond to that, Mickey got up. "Come on, I have a place we can go."

They walked for about half an hour, and Ian followed Mickey without question. For some reason, Ian felt like he could trust him. They eventually got to a courtyard surrounded on all sides by abandoned buildings. The concrete edifices looked so intimidating in the dark, only lit by the moonlight that shone down upon them. It looked like the perfect setting for a comic book, where the unsuspecting victim would be attacked by some street thug and then rescued by a masked hero. Which role would Ian play? The victim?

"You comin'?" Mickey asked, snapping him back to reality. Ian didn't realize he'd stopped walking. He shook his head to clear it as he ran to catch up with Mickey. He really needed to stop reading Jacob's comics...

There were no lights in the building they entered, but Mickey was like a pro when it came to navigating the staircase. Ian stumbled along behind him, slipping a few times before Mickey sighed and grabbed his free hand to help guide him. "There are twelve steps, and then there's a landing. They wind clockwise, so always turn right," he explained. Ian found the silver lining of it being so dark: at least Mickey couldn't see him blush when he'd grabbed his hand.

Mickey led them to the roof. Ian's eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, so when Mickey opened the door to the roof, Ian had to blink a few times to get used to being able to see again.

He let go of Ian's hand then, made his way over to the edge of the building, and sat down on the gravely floor, leaning back against the wall. Ian watched him sit and then followed suit, dropping his glove onto the ground beside him. It was cooler outside, now that the sun had been gone for a few hours, but it was still a warm night. Ian was perfectly comfortable in his T-shirt and shorts.

Neither of them spoke. Mickey pulled out his cigarettes and offered Ian one. He lit his own first, then held the lighter out for Ian. Ian leaned over with the cigarette between his lips and lit it. It was a cloudless night, and Ian was able to see the stars as clearly as he would have been able to see them from home.

"My brother Jacob is obsessed with the stars," Ian said. "My parents bought him a really nice telescope for his birthday and he's been looking up at the night sky incessantly for the last two and a halfcouple months. He won't stop talking about the constellations and planets. It's so annoying."

"You don't like the stars?" Mickey asked.

Ian turned to look directly at Mickey. "No, it's not that. It's just... I'd wanted a new glove for my birthday, and when they got him the telescope, I thought for sure I'd get the glove. My birthday was only two weeks after his... but they didn't get me anything. There was no party, no gifts, nobody even said 'happy birthday'... I think they might have forgotten about it. The only cards I got were from my other siblings, and that wasn't until a few days later. For all I know, my step-mom could have hid them until after my birthday had passed..."

He could see that Mickey felt bad for him but didn't know what to say. "It's okay," Ian said. "I'm not really complaining. I don't expect anything from them. They feed me and buy me clothes, take me to baseball practice and get me a tutor for school... I _can't_ complain—it's more than any of my other siblings have. I guess I'm just a little resentful against the damned stars."

Mickey chuckled. The sound was so relaxing to Ian. He took a long drag of his cigarette.

"I have three brothers and a sister," Mickey confessed after a few minutes of silence. It was the first personal thing he'd shared with Ian all night. "I haven't heard from any of them in almost two years... I was close with my little sister, Mandy, but I don't think she even knows I got out of Juvie."

"Where are they?"

"Still at home, I guess..." Mickey shrugged.

"So how haven't you seen them?"

"I haven't gone back. There's no way I'm ever going back there," Mickey said firmly.

Ian had so many questions but he didn't want to press Mickey too much. His curiosity eventually got the better of him. "So... where do you live then, if not at home?"

Mickey bit his lower lip, and Ian's stomach did a flip. That had to be the _sexiest_ thing Ian had ever seen. All of Ian's attention was now on Mickey's lips... They looked so soft and so inviting. He slowly reached out a hand, putting it on Mickey's face, and was relieved when Mickey didn't pull back. Ian gently pulled Mickey's chin down with his thumb so that the boy's lip fell out from the grasp of his teeth, and at the same time Ian leaned closer and pressed his lips against Mickey's.


	5. Chapter 5

When Mickey opened his eyes, he could tell it was just about dawn. The sky was a bright orange color and the sunlight was cutting through the holes in the concrete walls and the broken windows, invading Mickey's makeshift shelter. He was still in the abandoned building, on his used and dirty mattress—with one big difference: Ian Gallagher was asleep next to him, _spooning _him.

What had he been thinking in bringing Ian back here? He hadn't been thinking; that was the problem.

Mickey knew that is was boredom that had drawn him to the baseball field the day before, but what made him linger on the bleachers afterwards had been Ian. He'd been fascinated by the redhead. He couldn't tear his eyes away from him. He'd listened to the boy go on and on about his life and his family and Mickey had actually been interested to learn about him.

But bringing him here had been a mistake.

They had kissed on the roof, under the fucking stars. Jesus, could Mickey get any more queer? After half an hour of making out and grinding against each other, Mickey had pushed the younger boy off of him—and of course, the first thing Ian had said was "sorry."

_Sorry? _Mickey had thought, _sorry for what?_

Ian's cheeks had been red, his freckles barely visible in the moonlight. They'd both been flustered and out of breath.

Mickey had set up certain rules for himself while he'd been in Juvie, the most important of which being that he didn't kiss. The second had been that he never bottomed for anyone in there—he didn't want to end up being someone's bitch, after all, regardless of what he would have preferred.

Letting Ian kiss him last night had been... _new_... Mickey's first kiss... and what a kiss it had been...! He'd had to stop Ian because he knew where things were heading, and for some reason, Mickey didn't want them to go there.

Mickey was a loser, an ex-con, a complete fuck-up. He was basically homeless. He had no future. He didn't want to be a regret on the kid's list.

He'd told Ian that he should go back home to his brothers and sisters because it was getting late, but the redhead had been so fucking stubborn. "Can't we go back to your place instead?" he'd asked, giving Mickey a lopsided grin.

And again, Mickey had tried not to answer Ian's question. He'd tried to pretend like maybe he did have an apartment or something somewhere, but just wasn't interested in taking the boy there.

"I wish I had some weed..." Ian had said then, forgetting his earlier question.

Mickey did have some weed. He'd been hiding some in a ziplock bag under his mattress. He'd gotten it from some teenager he'd beaten up about a week after getting out of Juvie, taking his backpack and his wallet. He'd used the cash to buy himself food and booze until his paychecks started, and had found the weed in the backpack.

Despite the fact that Mickey had stopped their kiss and slowed things down, he didn't _really_ want the boy to leave. He'd told Ian to wait on the roof and he'd go get them a joint. He should have known the redhead wouldn't have listened to him.

"Is this where you _live_...?" Ian had asked once Mickey had turned to see the boy standing in the doorway of the stairwell. The fucking kid had followed him... _Great._

Mickey hadn't known what to say. He'd just stood there, like a moron. A mute moron... He'd been so embarrassed. All he'd wanted to do was run away. He didn't want Ian's pity...

The redhead's expression had changed from confusion to understanding. "That's why you haven't seen your family... They must be terrible..."

Mickey had shaken his head. "Just my dad..." he'd explained. The younger boy had just shrugged his shoulders in acceptance.

Ian had walked over to the mattress and had taken a seat. "So, where's this weed you promised me?" he'd asked, grinning.

They'd smoked the two joints Mickey had had left and had talked until Ian had fallen asleep. Mickey hadn't woken him up. He'd been selfish, honestly. _If this is it,_ he'd thought, _at least I can have one night with the kid. _He'd laid back on his mattress and closed his eyes, pretending that they weren't in an abandoned building that was falling apart.

His last thought had been a wish—the first wish Mickey had made since the night his mother had died ten years ago and he'd wished for her to come back. Mickey had wished that things could have been different—that he'd met Ian at a different, less shitty time in his life... that their relationship could have had a fighting chance at being something... and maybe it could have, under different circumstances.

When he woke up that morning and looked down at Ian's head resting against his chest, Mickey cursed at himself under his breath for trying to make a wish again. He should have learned his lesson—wishes were for pussies.

He put his arm around Ian and pulled him closer. _Just for a few more minutes..._ he told himself. _That's all I need..._

* * *

**A/N: Since the theme was "different beginnings", I decided to stop here. However, I kind of really like this AU and would be willing to continue this story if anyone is interested in reading more... so just let me know!**


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